More of a concept
by Lockmaker
Summary: "I've never found anything quite so enjoyable as a good game of cat and mouse. So shall we begin?" Sometimes the darkest parts of human nature come naturally to people.  Reviews, critics etc very welcome
1. Somewhere beyond the sea

This is my first time publishing on and I implore you to be brutally honest with my work so I may improve, if you don't like it please don't be worried to tell me, I want to improve on my writing and if that means learning from my mistakes so be it. Also if you happen to like it it'd be a huge help if you could tell me what was good so I can add more of that.

It has come to my attention people are unsure who is being referred to, so from now on scenes containing just the killer or his inner monologue or messages he leaves the BAU will be in **bold** with flash backs in_ italics_. I hope this makes things easier.

Thank you for reading and enjoy**  
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><p><strong>More of a concept<strong>

**You could look at him. You could hear him when he said hello and if you were to reach out and seize his hand in a firm grasp you could feel skin. Get close enough and you could hear his heart thudding against his chest, perhaps even for the slightest moment swear that he was just like you. But the truth was he really wasn't there. For all his sugar coated words and charming smiles, he was even in his own opinion not human. He guessed he was once upon a time, guessed that something terrible had happened, guessed something perhaps went wrong that left him as he was. Perhaps the worst thing from a human point of view was that he didn't care. The closest he came to human was the cruelty he showed.**

_**"Sshh… listen Lauren your still not here… stop crying Linda I can barely understand you… that's better… yes your daughter is fine, now listen Lauren this is very important… I hate hurting children but don't think I won't. I've never actually killed one but if your not here in two hours I'll kill her. I don't think I can forgive you for that."**_

**It wasn't that he really liked hurting people. He could honestly say that he'd never killed a person. Been the catalyst for people's deaths… well that was a whole other story. One that if you asked him he'd gladly tell you. But you'd never guess. After all he was a marvellous man in most people's eyes. For a second which was the longest he needed to keep your attention.**

**"I have free ranged roasted rabbit with herb French fries. Then for entrées I have a raspberry sorbet, a goat's cheese Gnocchi and a Poulet à la Marengo. The soup tonight is Vichyssoise served with black truffles. The pasta for tonight is a squid ravioli in a lemon grass broth." This was his world for the night, one of beauty and illusions. The people here didn't care about him more than he looked to belong. Of course they thought he was one of theirs. Most didn't think they could be tricked. They dealt with cutthroats and backstabbers daily. So perhaps these people were the hardest to deal with. So it was hilarious they hadn't noticed him. He didn't like smoked duck and mashed squash, he didn't care that the New York times called it a 'wonderful yet mysterious dish'. He didn't see why these people subjected themselves to such strange dishes. But he wasn't here to eat. So he ate it without tasting it. These people didn't like him; to them his name was Maurice Soyder an investment banker from Michigan. He'd never been to Michigan and didn't plan on any time soon but it was as good a place as any. He'd never been to Rosaline's before so he allowed himself to absorb the atmosphere while occasionally making a dashingly witty comment to amuse the five people he was with.**

**"So what do you think of David Raleigh getting the Leopold case?"**

**"Don't know how he swung that one. Man has no taste. Did you see him yesterday, the allure of subtle off white colouring still escapes him he still insists coming in glowing." He had no idea who David Raleigh was or if he wore white shirts but they all laughed and nodded in agreement.**

**"I heard Sarah Newport is raising funds."**

**"What for?"**

**"I don't know, bare footed little tribesmen somewhere. You know the type."**

**"Surely she has better things to do than raise money for them."**

**"I think it's sweet. It's important people care about the world."**

**"I agree; this world has fallen to far from basic moral values that our forefathers took for granted. To truly make a difference we must return to these basic principles of respect before we solve anything." He'd read it in a magazine somewhere but they all looked at him like he'd said the right thing.**

**"I think that we should donate some money."**

**"You donate money to every lost loser you see. If they were really poor why wouldn't they just get a job?"**

**"They can't always."**

**"Everybody can get a job."**

**"Do you know I regularly watch people kill themselves?"**

**"No, what about those with back pains?"**

**"I get back pains but I still go to work don't I? Too pay for you to go to places like this."**

**"I enjoy watching them struggle and eventually they all do it."**

**"I like donating money to abused animals. I donate a hundred dollars every month to a delightful little shelter near us."**

**"Oh I might start doing that."**

**"It's so sweet. You should really consider it."**

**"I'm going to have you and you kill yourself. I've also been on Thorazine for about five years now." He wasn't sure if he was speaking any more but he didn't care. They'd end up the same. "Here take my business card." He grinned passing it to the man he was facing.**

**"Very nice."**

**"Just got them printed yesterday. Beautiful aren't they?"**

**"Very nice." He repeated**

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><p><strong>She'd been crying for about ten minutes as he tapped a pen against the table. He wanted her to shut up but he'd worked too hard just to waste it. The rope noose still hung from the ceiling.<strong>

**"Really dear, it's not that hard. Just jump, I've tied it in a remarkable good way. You'll just break your neck."**

**"But… but…"**

**"But… but… nothing dear. You're doing the world a fantastic favour. It'll be very fast and if you don't I'll take this here gun and shoot… what was his name? Rod… something? Then I'll tell everybody you know. No husband, no settlement. You'll end up with nothing. Just like those 'tribesmen'. But even less because you'll be labelled as a whore."**

**"I… why are you doing this?"**

**"I'm not doing anything. Not yet anyway." He grinned**

**"I…" She kept sobbing as he stood dusting his suit off. He'd found it in a fine little tailor's just off 44th, he'd been shocked that they were so reasonable with prices. He was very fond of the cut. She stood, lips still trembling as she walked on top the step. He didn't leave until she had the noose around her neck. He walked out slowly; he heard the crack as he shut the door singing to himself as he entered the night air. Nobody else was around to hear him but tomorrow the world would measure their loss and still move on as always that's the only reason he was able to operate so well. Nobody really cared, not after too long anyway.**

**_Somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere waiting for me, my lover stands on golden sands and watches the ships that go sailing._**


	2. One of the biggest sins

**"I don't know I do like this cut but it just feels too… constricting." He spent a huge portion of his income on suits. He was treating himself to a tailored Brioni suit. He adored the feel of the cut normally but this was too tight around his waist.**

**"Well we could bring it out slightly but it is very flattering to your figure."**

**"It makes me look like I've got a huge waist."**

**"Now have you decided on whether you want the steel grey or not?" The steel grey made a bold statement but he preferred the mist grey, a darker grey that suited the blue ties he liked to wear.**

**"I'll stick with the misted grey and the pin stripped Payne's grey."**

**"With the waist jacket sir?"**

**"Of course."**

**"Also bring over the arsenic tie. I want to see it against this." Dressing well was important to him, always had been, the cut of a good suit was very important. He could spend hours wandering through suits. He learnt the importance of a good suit quickly. People trusted him in a good suit. People trusted anybody in a good suit.**

**"You look fantastic sir."**

**"I know." He turned looking at himself in the mirror, smiling at himself. He ran a hand through his hair what he said and what he thought were completely different things but he did love himself. He ran his hands down the front of the jacket, it looked good. His last suit was a wonderful Yves saint Lauren that hung beautifully. He'd ruined it though which was a real shame. In his… line of work people often got annoyed and tried to attack him. "I care about myself. I ensure I am physically fit and take time to appreciate myself. I believe everybody should appreciate themselves and put much needed time alone at the top of their priorities."**

**"Yes sir… now will you be wanting another shirt?"**

**"You see most people seem to have lost touch with themselves dear. That's why I take a little time to treat myself everyday. You should too darling." He grinned "Do you have anything in bleu de France?"**

**"I think so sir."**

**"Thank you dear." He grinned and stepped down still smiling at himself.**

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><p>It wasn't the best way to start a day at work but at the BAU most days began in the same way. Uncovering just how twisted and merciless people could be when presented with the chance. Sometimes they didn't have cases for days and it was a little glimmer of humanity, the idea that perhaps people would stop murdering each other for no foreseeable reason. Then they'd end up with a paedophile who also shows signs of cannibalism and the hope faded. Of course they had to keep spirits high and remind themselves for every serial killer and madman there was at least ten good people. Those good people were the reason they did this. They needed protection from the predators of society. The problem was with so many predators they needed to prioritize they couldn't be everywhere at once. No matter how hard they tried. There was a story behind each case, always somebody desperate for help and closure. Today was only slightly different. This time the person pleading for their help was an English DI. DI Morrison had been there since about nine, she'd kept her eyes forward and entered into JJ's office without a word or glance to any of them. JJ hadn't really been expecting somebody.<p>

"I need help catching a killer."

"Oh… have you been to the police?"

"I am the police." She smiled before reaching into her handbag and throwing quite an impressively bulky file down. Most of it was a collection of loose notes and newspaper clippings. "This is just the last four years. The ones with pink post-sticky notes are those I don't think are involved, the yellow is I'm unsure and the greens I'm pretty sure right? The issue is he's impossible to…"

"These are all suicides."

"Yes I know they appear that way but this is a serial killer."

"Miss?"

"DI Morrison."

"Okay detective, in my experience I've learnt sometimes there is not a pattern even when we look and desperately want a pattern sometimes people just are too sad to go on."

"Why does nobody believe me? This is a serial killer. He told me he does them himself."

"Somebody told you they killed these people."

"No… I got a message that… it's in here somewhere." She flicked through the file before grabbing a typed message

**You cannot repent if you kill yourself**

**True power is destroying the soul my dear**

**Lots of love and hugs RL xxx**

"I got this after announcing that the suicide rates in Norfolk had risen drastically in the last few months. People with no history of depression suddenly killing themselves. They showed none of the warning signs. Look some of them even made plans to go on holiday or to go to parties. You don't do that if you want to kill yourself." JJ could definitely see her point in that matter. "After that I started looking at all the suicides without notes, some could be explained but soon I found many where the person made plans or had no history of depression. The last one was a month ago and then I saw this…" She held the news paper up for them all to see

**Wall Street widow found hanging in apartment**

"The same as all the others, she was meant to go on holiday the next week. She was reported to be 'a happy woman if a bit dim.' I've found two others so far, no explanations. I think somebody… this RL is killing them and making them look like suicides. If he's in America then you have a problem on your hands. He could kill as many as he wanted and just cross state lines."

"Well…" JJ said trying to get a word in, it was clear this woman was passionate about catching this killer, if it turned out there was really a connection. "I'll look at the case and if we choose to take it we'll contact you."

"I'm not mad or delusional. This man is dangerous and people are too blind to see it." She breathed in deeply trying to calm down; she knew this wasn't the way to get help. She needed to keep cool. Keep an open mind and relax. She took a few deep breaths before opening her eyes smiling "I know how crazy I sound. I wouldn't believe it if somebody came and told me. But I know these people aren't dying of their own free will."

"We'll look into it."

"That's all I ask. Thank you agent Jareau." She stood and they shook hands. JJ wanted to help she really did but this wasn't like other cases, for one they didn't even know if they had a case or any victims. DI Morrison walked out, she'd smiled slightly at a very nervous looking man she'd almost collided with but apart from that kept her eyes down. She needed to focus here. She understood that they were busy but that was no excuse for letting him continue. Of course she could be wrong but part of her refused to accept that. She approached her car which was a humble blue Peugeot 2006, she'd had to rent it of course but if this case continued she had no qualms about living here indefinitely. Even though she couldn't and wouldn't admit it. This case was her whole world now. She slid the keys in and saw it flapping in the wind. She took the white piece of paper from her windowsill looking at the black words. Even without forensics she could tell they'd written it with a crayon it simply said

**The games begin **

**RL**

It was enough to have her running back in to the BAU. This was her proof. This would make them listen or at least she hoped.


	3. Personal paranoia

**Tea. Call him British but he adored the stuff. He'd actually lost track of how many cups he'd had so far. So he was as expected jittering slightly. But in all honesty he didn't care, he was in a fine mood and he planned on celebrating. He'd finally found something to relieve his boredom. He settled the cup down and laced his fingers still watching the flashing lights. He couldn't see them due to the crowd that had huddled around the yellow tape. It was the closest some of them would come to true danger. It had been cornered off much faster than he expected. He wasn't the cause this time. Some gang shooting, meaningless to him and hence uninteresting. He smiled as a woman asked him if the seat was free. He nodded going back to his paper. The shooting was so popular because of the 'string of shootings' across the country. All the same shot gun. He wasn't too keen on guns himself. Hated them really, the splatter and the noise. He liked to believe he was above using them. Sleeping pills and nooses where more his style. They allowed him to work without detection from prying eyes. They had no idea how close he was, he'd seen them step out of the car and was still watching as they scuttled about. The woman facing him had been texting since she sat down and nobody else was looking at him. He placed his money onto the table and tucked the newspaper under his arm. He immersed himself within the crowd quickly. He was able to disappear with the rest of them. He removed his glasses as he pushed to the front before placing them back on slowly. He could see them and they had no idea who he was.**

It was clear quickly that this was not the killer they were after, just a senseless killing by one of the local gangs. He'd been so certain that this would help them catch the shooter. But no he was leaving empty handed. He would have to call Penelope and tell her to stop the CCTV search. It was nice that they weren't dealing with a serial killer but in a strange, twisted way it was worst this way. They had no more evidence to try and capture him and the profile was lacking. He turned looking towards the large crowd, they needed to disperse, there wasn't anything to really see. Just a dead body and surely they saw enough of them on TV. Most people were craning and trying desperately to see the body. But one figure was staring at the workers. Completely calm, actually they weren't showing emotions. Most showed anger, shock, horror or sadness. They weren't flinching and it wasn't that they were trying to act. Their hands in their pockets as they grinned. He took a few steps towards them as somebody shouted

"Agent Morgan…" He turned towards the officer's voice. He must have only been looking for a moment but when he turned back the figure was leaving. He ran towards asking them to stop but they were gone. Just over the crowd he saw them hailing a cab. Something about them was unnerving. He wasn't sure why. For all he knew they were some office chump who was on his lunch break when this happened. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling he'd seen that look before.

**They'd connected and it was marvellous. He'd looked him straight in the eyes and held his gaze. He'd had high hopes for the BAU and it seemed they might be able to provide some form of entertainment. He knew Morrison was here, he'd seen her get off the plane. The only person to link together the dots. But she'd stumbled upon it and required nudges and hints. Yet these perhaps would provide him with the challenge he needed and desired. He was unsure if he wanted to be caught most of him screamed against it. He could cope in any establishment they saw fit to place him but he wanted a blazing glory. He wanted somebody to be the Sherlock Holmes to his Moriarty. He knew it was childish that he saw fit to kill those who didn't match up to his standards and with so few actually being deemed worthy he knew this was problematic.**

**"Turn here." He said sitting back in the taxis seats he had no idea where he was going but he could entertain himself for now. He had over two thousand dollars in his pocket and was currently staying at the four seasons. Mostly because he liked the free soap and shampoo he got there. Even though they frowned upon him taking it from the trolley. Reportedly they didn't like that type of behaviour there. He was staying in the Washington suite though so it wasn't exactly like they were going to throw him out for stealing complimentary toiletries and perhaps a bathrobe or two. The funny thing was in plain sight or at least he believed he'd covered a busboy's mouth and nose with his hand. He wasn't sure if he had or not. But he remembered them struggling and flailing under his hand and he might have driven to a rubbish tip. But as always he couldn't be sure. He couldn't be sure of much not any more.**

**Now this he really wasn't sure of. He got over nine hundred channels in this suite and he was watching a 'detective show' that involved imbeciles.**

**"It wasn't a suicide you moronic pieces of filth." He snapped at the screen "He was left handed, how on earth is he meant to shoot himself in the right side of the head at such close range. You pathetic imbeciles." He threw a cushion at the screen before standing. He had come here to relax but he was still testy due to the tea. He'd removed his waist jacket and tie. Place his shoes in the wardrobe and pulled his socks off. His belt was now on the bathroom floor but he still wasn't relaxed. He doubted he'd be able to relax here. He'd already discovered the name of the man.**

**It had taken him a few hours to scan through the newspapers looking for recent stories about black FBI agents. Agent Derek Morgan. With a name it was incredible how much was available online. He'd found school records, sport awards, anything that had ever been written down about him was available somewhere. He had a nicely little written folder on his laptop now. He'd search everything in a library copied it to a pen drive and transferred it. He was awfully paranoid about people tracking his searches. He'd crushed the pen drive and taken a five minute walk to dump them in different bins. He needed a challenge he wanted somebody who was dammed near impossible to get to. Derek Morgan might be his challenge.**

**The BAU, the behavioural analysis unit. Perhaps when he bored of the game he'd let them analyse him maybe they could tell him why he did what he did. He doubted it though. He doubted they'd even go after him not unless DI Morrison convinced them to work with her. Now DI Morrison was somebody who just hadn't met his original expectations. He was a fair man though, he wouldn't have anything done to her. Unless she messed this up for him. Then he'd watch her swing.**


	4. Each careful step

**He understood why people said they should never work with children. Whiny little things that had a habit of wetting themselves. It was so much easier with people who didn't have children, he'd never killed a child but he'd come close on more than one occasion. Nasally little voices that wanted ice-cream and toys. He had the _joy _of looking after a fat sticky little child while his mother panicked. Sometimes he wondered if he should follow other killers and just shoot them from a distance but it wasn't the children's fault they were so bad. Oh no… it was their parents fault, so he wouldn't hurt a child. He found no pleasure in that. But as little Timmy wet himself and rubbed his eyes with his candy covered hands, he really was considering shooting him. He snapped at him to**

**"Stop crying or I'll break both your legs." And he looked up at him, eyes pleading desperately.**

**The poor boy had trusted this man who'd smiled and asked him where his mother was. Now he was sat in a corner whimpering as he held a gun. He knew guns were bad, he was forbidden to touch his dad's, because it could kill him and if he died that meant a long, long sleep that he'd never get up from. The strange man kept pacing back and forth and back and forth. He had the same look his dad got when he was thinking up a particularly harsh punishment.**

**The man turned to him and crouched down in front of him the smile appearing on his face.**

**"Some policemen are going to ask you what I look like… but they won't find me. I'm going to be you're new nightmare Timmy." His name wasn't Timmy but this man kept calling him it. "Do you understand you miserable cockroach?" He nodded and covered his eyes again. He didn't like this man's face, it was scary and wrong. He just wanted his mummy.**

**The phone rang and he almost leapt on it, he could hear her ventilating down the other end**

**"Hello dear… yes I have your son… money? No I'm not particularly fond of money. Now listen if you go to the police I'll kill Timmy… George? Yes fine fine, George. Now you've spoken to him and you've received the package so I'm sure you understand I will have to kill him… no it's anything you've done. Well maybe a little… we'll talk more when you arrive. If you want help… contact DI Morrison I believe she's with the FBI."**

**The saddest part of his work was that he did a fine job of it all but nobody ever noticed. They never realised how good he was because he did it so very well. This beautiful city, home to so many of his idols would be his new playground until of course he got bored and left. This would continue on and on and on and on until he died. He wanted to stop so badly sometimes but his ego prevailed. Some mornings he'd wake up and feel he'd never want to do it again. But then he'd see a man with his wife, completely devoted to her and the stirring would start. That was it. He'd be back to old tricks and nobody could stop him.**

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><p>DI Morrison was wiping her hands on her skirt, her palms always sweated before a big conference and even though these people had shown her nothing but kindness since she'd arrived, this was her one shot. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down; anything less and she'd sound like a fool. She knew how far fetched this sounded already.<p>

"Over the past five years certain areas England has experienced a spike in suicides that hold no visible explanation. Normally spikes like this do not occur unless there is a valid reason such as a large factory shutting or a disaster that affects many people. The areas go through a bell shape."

"A bell shape?" David asked shifting in his seat to lean forward

"Yes ranging from five months to a year the areas show the same curve." She motioned to the graphs appearing on the board. "The numbers vary but they all follow the same pattern, the suicide level is normal then it increases and increases until declining at a steady rate until it returns to normal."

"Don't suicides normally spike from time to time." Emily asked still trying to understand what the woman was after from them.

"They are unusual." Spencer said standing; he took a white board pen drawing a slightly waved line across the board but more or less it was straight "Normal statistics show a general theme with the number of suicides and if a spike was to occur it would normal happen shortly after something that had affected a number of people." He drew a sharp spike upwards on top of his line pointing to it "But a curve so equal is very uncommon especially over a number months and never when nothing serious has affected the area."

"Thank you." She said as he realised she was going to explain it; he smiled slightly taking a seat again "This has happened all over the country. Those involved never show previous signs of depression or mental illness. Normally they have good families, a good working life and don't show any signs of considering suicide. Also none including in the graph left a note or warning. Most had plans, holidays, birthdays, dinner dates. Which…"

"People don't tend to do if they want to die." Hotch said, a smile grew on her face, finally somebody was listening or at least being kind enough not to call her insane or obsessed.

"But they aren't found in the same ways."

"No… which I understand is unusual but I understand some killers especially ones like RL don't do this for the act but rather…"

"The preparation and mental gratification." David smiled at her, he'd written those words himself

"RL? That's the name of the person who sent you the letters?" Emily asked "Are you sure that's not somebody taunting you."

"I'm very sure."

"RL is very vague."

"A name or nickname, something that holds meaning to the killer?" Spencer said

"So you'll help me?"

"We could set up a preliminary profile." JJ smiled "It does show certain signs of being the work of an unsub." She might have cried with the relief, finally somebody didn't think she was hung up on a solved case, that she was seeing demons around every corner and always needed a mystery. At last something, no matter how small was going right.

**As they talked he was holding the boy's eyes forward, his hands pressed either side of his head in a vice like grip.**

**"See, see…" He laughed in Timmy's ear as he looked at the crimson spilling out onto the white tiles "I told you she'd do it. Isn't it perfect?" He was crying and screaming as the man hit him on the back of the head. He stepped backwards as he fell out of the apartment. Sometimes he really wondered if he was going mad but in the morning he'd be back to normal and none of this would matter. Unless the BAU finally stepped off the mark and stopped him. He was practically handing them the first clue. Little Timmy would talk, not enough to be really trusted but enough to get them playing the game. He always hated games where the other team didn't know it had started yet. It was unsporting and just down right rotten. They would be his greatest feat; he would show the world just how incredible he was. How the planning and the time could create something beautiful, something he could be proud of. How the world would shiver and gaze upon him with awe.**

**_Regrets? I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention. I did what I had to do  
>and saw it through without exemption. I planned each charted course - each careful step along the byway, and more, much more than this, I did it my way.<em>**


	5. Moving the story along

She sometimes wanted nothing more than to turn to alcohol or perhaps drugs. Just something that would let her escape from her obsession. Another vice would be a glorious escape right about now. He kept baiting her, luring her deeper and deeper into whatever sick game he wanted to play with her. The BAU was her last hope; if they didn't see the link then it wasn't there and like so many said she was just 'grasping at straws'. She doubted her sanity more often than she wanted to. All the logic and training in her told her that nothing was there. These were just sad people who needed to escape. But then something that she couldn't ignore would appear. She'd abandoned everything to follow this case, her husband, her family, her friends and her career. The case now defined her completely and utterly. She was chasing her tail again and again and again knowing she was dancing to his tune but she was under the spell. Something was so intoxicating and alluring about this figure; they didn't fit into any book or trend, this person was… unique. If she could just have five minutes with him, even just a single question. She knew she'd get some of the answers she craved. But for now she stared at the paper clippings on her bed. Looking for a link or pattern that would stick. She knew that if she looked hard enough there would always be links, but she needed the right one.

Flashes of faces blurred in her mind, victims became friends and friends became victims. Her eyes and body screaming for sleep. She forced them awake though. The BAU could and would help her more but after seeing the look on Agent Jareau's face she knew she needed something and that something had to be solid and concrete. They were trying to help but they looked at her like she was going insane, they pitied her single minded obsession. She would too if one of them had come in with a case like this. Her father had his own case as did her mother, that one case that was always with them that their seemed to be no solution too. Of course the fact her father had solved his case while he was retired in the south of France, as always proving he was a far superior detective. She wondered if it was a curse, that one case that stayed with all officers until justice was served. It was just her luck that she'd have a case that nobody else could see. She shifted the papers aside, a mother here, a son there; a charity worker next to a priest that lay next to a hooker… this person had no pattern. She ran a hand through her hair and rested the file she'd been pouring over bed before walking to the kettle that was perched against the TV of her motel room. She clicked it on as she rested her elbows on the counter and grasped her hair.

"Pull yourself together." Her voice sounded weak to even her own ears. She'd been staying at this motel for two weeks now, searching for this monster. A far cry from her comfy two bed-roomed apartment that she once shared with Phillip. He'd be at work now, saving the day one insurance claim at a time. The rain had finally stopped not that she'd noticed it start in the first place, but as always she'd missed a simple joy because her mind was on her case. She pulled her hair out of the band that kept it on a tight bun on her head before putting it into a low pony. Sleep was what she needed now; the victims would still be dead in the morning. She poured the latte mixture into the plastic cup and filled it up as the kettle finally boiled. A series of mundane tasks that reaped a reward that in her eyes was just what she needed. There was a knock on the door and a voice called

"Las toallas limpias." She turned to the door as there was another knock and this time a cry of "Clean towels." Her mind was dulled by the long night and the work, she only realised the fact it was five in the morning when she opened the door. The figure covered her mouth as she panicked they walked in and kicked the door shut behind her. She swung hitting them and they stumbled back but still turned the latch.

"Hello DI Morrison."

"How... don't try anything." Her mind locked into defence mode, she'd been to the self defence classes and now just had to pray they actually worked.

"I don't plan on." He said rubbing he jaw as he pulled the cord on the blinds "Oh no... We are going to have a talk."

"Who the hell are you?" Her eyes went to the mace on her bed wondering if she could grab it in time; she doubted that she could beat this figure in a fair fight, if they even had the courtesy to fight fair. She kept her body positioned to pounce if the figure tried anything at all

"You've been chasing me for a long time." Her face relaxed slightly as she took the figure in, he smiled slightly slipping his hands into his pocket. He was nothing like she expected, thin and well groomed. He looked at her intently saying "Hello Rachel."

"Who are you?" Most people felt like this when met with rock stars or idols of some sort, she was trying to wrap her head around the idea that finally she'd gotten him. He was in her reach less than three meters away from her.

"Call me Robert Letterman. It's not my name anywhere but here. So Rachel... you have something you wanted to ask me? A few things in fact. Actually I've got a jolly good idea, you don't call the police and we have a talk."

"A talk?"

"I'm unarmed... you have little to fear from me. I just want to talk. I'll be honest but will not tell you my name or where I'm from..."

"Why do you do it?" The words tumbled from her mouth; she was desperate to know, to know everything about him. He just chuckled gently and she felt like he was patronizing her, which he was.

"Because they let me." He said "I wish I could give you a story about how they where all secretly aliens or maybe that they raped and killed my mother. But alas I cannot. My turn... why are you so obsessed with me?"

"You killed my brother."

"This isn't some film Rachel." He raised a finger and slowly moved it from right to left and back again smiling at her. "I am not secretly your father or a spy. I never had the chance to meet your brother." He lowered his hand and grabbed a wicker chair by the window; he moved it in front of the door and sat down still grinning. "He just happened to kill himself when I was in town... I did have something to do with you're neighbours death though. So sorry about you finding the body, he kept missing..." He began laughing "I mean he had a shotgun and couldn't aim into his own head." She was horrified if that was the word, his eyes where bright and smile wide but he wasn't human. A human couldn't laugh at the idea of death like him. "So really your revenge was wasted. You could have had a normal life." He leant forward resting his head on his hands. "Shame about that. But then again... your life has never been normal Rachel... poor little Rachel, always the second, your brother was the favourite wasn't he? A lazy, deceitful little boy who mother and father loved more. Did that hurt? Oh wait... it's your question."

"How do you do it?"

"Do what? Please be specific when asking your questions."

"Kill them." Her anger flared as she moved towards her phone, those few centimetres seemed a lifetime all of a sudden, if he saw her he could easily overpower her and she didn't trust his mental stability. At any second he could snap and go after her.

"I don't kill anybody."

"Yes you do."

"Don't raise your tone with me." He stood looking at her, eyes sharp and narrowed, _this_ was Robert or whoever he was, cold, calculated and evil; the whole charismatic and calm persona was a joke. A mask he wore and she saw that. She wondered if anybody ever saw it or just his victims. He settled back into his seat "I have never killed anybody… I think. They do it themselves."

"How?"

"My turn, what did you think about your brother being the favourite?"

"We where loved equally."

"Liar." He yelled laughing slightly "Tell. The. Truth." He said slowly, drawing out the words in order to twist the knife in deeper. "You hated him and it felt good when he got onto the drugs didn't it? The all powerful, always good little boy finally showing his true colours. Come on tell me." His words were tumbling out in rapid pace as his hands dug into the sides of the chair, he was excited and his face sung about the sick fantasies he had inside.

"No… it was… it…"

"There we go... hesitation at last." He licked his lips like he was savouring a great victory on his account, he relaxed back into the chair a much more controlled smile forming on his face "You liked it didn't you? You horrible person, you adored it. Your own brother needed help and you were rejoicing in the fact that your parents were paying attention to you."

"No it wasn't like that."

"Oh but it was… but then he died. Killed himself in fact and all of a sudden you don't like the attention. Mother and father want so much after they ignored you for so long. Admit it you hate them as much as you hate yourself for never matching up."

"No." She snapped as tears glistened on the corners her eyes, she didn't know how he knew about Billy's drug problem after all so few people did. Her father had made sure nobody knew, the shame it brought was enough to make even her father falter.

He was smiling at her internal conflict. He'd grown bored of her, he had new and shinier toys that where just aching and begging for him to ruin them. It was enough to make his mouth water, so many new toys, a little chipped and broken but the fun they would have. The issue was they weren't taking the bait and this called for drastic measures. He'd have to break his old toy in order to get them to listen and pay attention, it was a necessary risk but all the same he wasn't particularly thrilled about it. He'd even leave them a message on the mirror. If that didn't work nothing would and he'd not be in the finest of moods for a long while. But this way she would die a beautiful death and oh how it would be beautiful. She wouldn't be the heroine in the story of his life, her time was up and she had little to fear from him anymore; she'd be the catalyst a way to get his story to move on. A shoddily thought of scenario that seemed inevitable now he considered it. If he was able to read his life like it was a story he'd probably shoot the author for bringing in such an obvious plot device but it worked all the same. It would bring the BAU to chase him at last, he would be able to bring the final chapters to a close and see if any of them was smart enough to take him on. He very much doubted it. After all he was… unique.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry about the long delay I've been very ill recently so have been unable to update, I would like to thank one reviewer for their very nice comments which helped me pull myself out of bed and write this. They know who they are and have my dearest thanks.<strong>


	6. Introducing your future

So many possibilities. He'd been staring at the board for a good hour now but so far he couldn't see a pattern, a school teacher one week followed by an alcoholic then a famed doctor. It was actually quite brilliant how the individual had planned it, if in fact it was a single person.

"What do we have so far?" Turning to the sound of Hotch's voice he motioned to the board saying

"Surprisingly quite little. The lack of a pattern should by all accounts have a pattern."

"The funeral for DI Morrison is next week." They'd barely known her but her death now had Hotch working like a man possessed to catch this man. She'd been found two days after swallowing a bottle of painkillers washed down with a glass of whiskey. She'd looked peaceful lying on the motel bed and yet the scene was ruined by the scrawled verse on the cheap wallpaper of the motel

**I held her hand as she died, you never had the chance to say goodbye. Now the game begins, it won't end until one of us wins. I'm willing to watch the world burn but alas it's now your turn.**

Nothing had been taken, no trophy, no reminder for the unsub to muse over.

"Do we have anything at all?" Hotch asked looking at the sprawl of thoughts that he'd pinned to the white board.

"Well there is about a ninety percent chance he's male from the hand writing." Hotch nodded "It's just strange how controlled his writing is."

"What do you mean?"

"Look here at the a, it's compact and controlled while on his earlier note its sprawled."

"Different authors?" Hotch suggested, he shook his head and brought his hand to his chin

"It's as if he was stressed writing the first note. He needs us to play along, to become apart of his 'game' as he refers to it as."

"Why don't we just leave him to it?" Morgan walked in sitting down "He's killing people for fun?" Morgan had been the first on the scene "We can't give in."

"I doubt that would be useful. From what I've seen, ignoring him would just cause him to escalate. He's intelligent but is almost childish in his approach. The use of crayon, the silly rhyme, the goading." He didn't know a case to compare it to outside those found in comics. It was if the unsub wanted to be caught but at the same time wanted to win. Win what exactly he wasn't sure. It was infuriating to be as smart as he was but to be unable to see his end goal. He didn't do it for sexual pleasure or revenge there had to be a link though. True randomness was near impossible for the human mind, the brain liked order to much but so far there were too few links for even a correlation to be formed.

"So we're dealing with… a child genius?" Morgan said leaning back in his chair

"Garcia said the CCTV was stolen." JJ threw a file onto the desk as she down staring at the board "Without it we only have an estimated time of death. A hooker thought she saw a male figure leaving after midnight but can't be sure if it was from that room."

"Keep looking, somebody must know something, if not on DI Morrison then on another one of the possibilities." DI Morrison had left stacks upon stacks of potential victims of their killer, all needed to be investigated and searched thoroughly while they also had two other serial killers they had been asked to investigate, one a shooter and the other a disorganised sexual killer who enjoyed taking the tongues of the women he killed. They could have done without such a large caseload especially ones that were proving to be such a challenge. They just needed a single link, something that defined the killer. They knew a few things so far;

He never killed his victims himself

He had started in England and came over to America

His victims had nothing to link them

He never left any trace of his being there

He contacted DI Morrison before contacting them

Each one alone were nothing. Together they spoke volumes about the person they were dealing with. Firstly, there was a strong possibility he was English, which meant if they could pin down how long they'd been in America they could find flight details or what ship they'd been on. Secondly they had a taste for theatrics suggesting they wanted recognition for their work, which meant they'd be getting more letters in the near future which would most likely escalate to videos of the killings or more personalised messages. Third they would most likely have a nightmare getting him convicted of murder, according to everything he hadn't been there, it was all circumstantial evidence how many people would believe a single man had forced so many to commit suicide it was ridiculous in its own right.

**It was glorious. As he stared upwards to the spinning fan feeling the trickling of blood down the side of his chin, he felt a calm wonder and joy spread through his very being. He struggled upwards and let his eyes follow the figure sat down drinking coffee. They were completely unaffected by his presence or that of the whimpering woman on the bed bound by his wrists and ankles. His mouth was dry as the figure turned to him saying**

**"Mister Lockmoor, I believe we have much to discuss."**

**"You know…"**

**"I have a crystal ball; I know everything about you, Richard Lockmoor born of a Mary and John Lockmoor. Come take a seat we have much to discuss." This was wrong, he was meant to kill this man or rather the man was suppose to kill himself to save his lover. The poor woman still lay gagged though as he pulled a seat down and sat facing him, he was older than himself, brown hair neatly combed with an absurd red bowtie staring at him. Yet here they were, he'd been knocked unconscious by this man and his lip was split but it was fascinating. The man offered him a napkin for his lip which he took dabbing the blood away.**

**"This is wrong." The man smiled saying**

**"Quaint." He had never known anybody to meet him like they were better than him, it was infuriating but addictive too, he wanted to kill this man more and more by the minute. "I've been watching you Richard."**

**"Forgive me if I'm not flattered and mildly disturbed by that fact."**

**"You have a way with people. You show potential."**

**"I am a greater man than any you've faced."**

**"No, you're going to be a waste, you'll end up dead or refusing to kill the BAU due to the poor ending in the story. I plan on helping you, mentoring you."**

**"Why?"**

**"We could be good together. I'm a fair man though, I understand cutting a good deal so here is mine. I will teach you what I know and you'll obey me completely… in return I won't kill you."**

**"You couldn't."**

**"I could but either way you're too curious not to investigate my claims."**


End file.
